Kyle, Liam, and I had taken the train to visit my mom and stepdad in Maine, in the town I grew up in. We were walking around, staring with mouths agape, as my mom showed us the mansion that my stepdad had built for them. Somewhere between our tour of the kitchen, and her showing me that she suddenly knew how to play piano, she began telling me that they had also just bought a bar, and were working on getting it renovated. She wanted to bring us over to see it, so we all piled into her Jeep, and drove into town.
The bar was literally a hole in the wall, located on a sketchy side street, with a rusty, metal door, and no signage at all. Think about the shittiest dive bar you’ve ever seen, and make it shittier. That was this bar. I asked her how long they ago they bought it, and she told me they had had it for seven years, and that it looked a lot worse when they bought it. In that moment, I decided that we were going to move back to Maine, to help them renovate and run the bar, and luckily, Kyle agreed.
My mom showed me all around the bar. It was huge, like it had once been a giant warehouse, and very sparsely furnished. There were two or three bar stools at the bar, and two, round pub tables, each with only one chair, sitting in the middle of this massive room. There were plenty of windows, but the room was very dark, because they had hung up pieces of fabric, and numerous pieces of cardboard, over the windows, and there were only two floor lamps providing any light. there was also a weird hole in the concrete floor, which they placed a 2×4 over, that you needed to cross to get to the bar.
She also showed me the full kitchen in the back, which they didn’t use at all, because they didn’t have anyone who could cook. All they served was popcorn, chips, and other snack foods. My step brother was working the bar, which only offered a handful of domestic beers, one type of whiskey, one type of vodka, one type of rum, etc.
The place was a disaster. But, my mom informed me that they actually did really well, raking in thousands of dollars ni profits every night. My step brother backed this up by telling me he made around $400 in tips a night. I was blown away. I told my mom that since they were doing so well, that she and I should go shopping to buy some stuff to spruce up the place, and pull in more customers. She agreed, and we left to go find some stuff.
Cut to later that night, where we had already brought in all the stuff we bought, as well as painted the walls and front door. We hung curtains, put up a neon sign in the front, placed a few area rugs, new tables, chairs, and stools, set up a nice lounge area, as well as an office, some new lighting, a few TVs, and I had ordered tons of more liquor for the bar. My step brother started pitching a fit, saying that I had no right to come in and change everything, since I had just gotten there, and he and my mom started to fight. I ignored them, and started hanging up wall decor, and placing lights, flowers, and other various things on the tables.
People started funneling into the bar in droves, and they all seemed very happy with the new changes. I even spotted a few familiar faces from my childhood and high school years, as well as some people from Illinois, who had somehow made their way to our bar. My step brother, still having a fit, stormed out, leaving the bar unattended, and my mom had to jump in to serve. I decided to go into the newly stocked kitchen, and start taking some orders, since we were now offering burgers, fries, onion rings, salads, and a few other things. I was like a freaking machine in the kitchen, and was sending out orders lightning fast.
The place stayed packed all the way until last call, when we closed up, and went home. I was staying at my mom’s new house for the time being, and when we walked in, she handed me an envelope, and told me it was my tips and some profits from that night. It was around $5000 in cash, and I started crying, and asked her why she never told me about the bar, because this type of money could have changed our lives, and alleviated so much unnecessary stress we had.
She went to bed, and I poured myself a drink (this whole dream is funny, because I actually don’t drink at all). I stared at the money, until I heard the familiar sound of our old bird clock telling me that it was way too late to be awake still.
I also vaguely remember my step brother texting me about a new car, and my step dad telling my mom that he wanted to make me a co-owner of the bar, but nothing too specific.
And then, I woke up.
My Life as Jan 